It was late morning when he woke and found the telephone beside his bed in the hotel tolling frantically, and remembered that he had left word to be called at eleven. Sloane was snoring heavily, his clothes in a pile by his bed. They dressed and ate ...
High Roller: Ginger, honey, this is for you, love. Thanks for your time. [tries to give her a small handful of chips] Ginger: Come on. High Roller: What's the matter? Ginger: What do you mean "what's the matter"? I made a lot of money for you. I want...
Stromboli: [shuts Pinocchio up in a cage] There! This will be your home - where I can find you always! Pinocchio: No, no, no! Stromboli: Yes, yes, yes! To me, you are a belonging. We will tour the world: Paris, London, Monte Carlo, Constantinopolee. ...
A Letter to Andre Breton, Originally Composed on a Leaf of Lettuce With an Ink-dipped Carrot On my bed, my green comforter draped over my knees like a lumpy turtle, I think about the Berlin Wall of years that separates us. In my own life, the years a...
Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse,— Wherein I did not some notorious ill, As kill a man, or else devise his death, Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, ...
I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of ...
